It has taken me so long to finish the second chapter, but here it is. I've changed a few things from the first one and you might find it quite different, and now it is from Donna's point of view. Lots of thanks to basmathgirl, she is the one who brightened considerably my work. I'm astonished that there are already a few alerts from people who read it. Hope you still like with the changes.
Chapter 2: It is all about his eyebrows [Donna's POV]
The sun was shining, but I decided that, by the sound my father made when he left for work, it would be really cold.
I stayed under the covers, not wanting to face school again. It was now three days since "the incident" had happened. A teacher offering you a lift to home was not exactly everything a girl could wish for. Well, maybe the rest of the girls in school thought so, but not me.
Then again, seeing an adult desperately flirting with Mr Smith didn't help.
Mum knocked as rudely as usual at my door. I threw the covers off and sat down on the bed for a while, in front of the window, and stared out at the view. Everything looked nice and quiet, like nothing could happen at all, except for that moment, back in the middle of the street when I felt for the first time of my life that there was something that shouldn't be there, something that wasn't right. The truth was that life is quite normal in Chiswick, or at least mine was normal; and once again, I wondered if that was what I really wanted: a calm and almost boring life.
It was time to wake up, or I'd be late for school, again. The truth is that I had been late on purpose. Not much, of course, because I've never been the type to miss lessons every now and then, but still, I didn't want to see my teacher again. Have I already mentioned that I didn't want to face school? Well, I still didn't want to. Thankfully, Mr Smith had been mysteriously ill for two days, but who knew when he'd return, and when he did, how I'd react to him. Expect some strange glances from him, perhaps? Another offer of a lift home? I kept asking myself if I should tell someone about his strange behaviour, as it seemed that the only person to witness it had been too busy wondering if he'd call her or not to think about what he'd asked me. There was also the possibility that he just thought it was alright to offer me a lift, worried what my parents might think about me getting home later than usual, and unlike normal people, he thought people wouldn't think he was up to no good because, honestly, he was not exactly normal.
I finally got dressed, brushed my hair and teeth, and ate my toast with marmalade while sipping my tea as fast as I could. I decided that I couldn't carry on like this, avoiding someone I had to see almost every day. As with every Monday to Friday, I took my things, left the house and met the girls on the way to school. They looked at me in surprise, as if I had been absent for a year.
"So, are things back to normal, Donna?" Claire asked me sharply.
"I was just a bit tired, you know. I haven't been sleeping well all this week." (And that was true)
"Are you alright?" I was slightly surprised that she believed my story about being tired. Even if a part of me wanted to tell them what happened, wanted to confess to them that in fact, I couldn't sleep because I was too worried what would people think if they knew, too worried about the true reason why he had asked me that, and too worried that I might have only misunderstood.
"Yup. Sure. Why shouldn't I be? I mean, it's not like I've missed every lesson." In fact I only wanted to miss one specific class.
"Yeah, well…changing the subject, do you think Mr Smith will come back today?"
At the sound of the teacher's name, all the girls started to talk about how much they missed him and what could have made him fell ill, which only got on my nerves even more than before. It only helped me to make my burden heavier. Even if it was overdoing things in my head, I couldn't help but think about what could happen if the worse came to the worse.
After a while, we finally arrived at the school gate, people both sides of it laughing and chatting, teachers parking their cars or already entering through the main door. No trace of the English teacher, which was good. Until I finally saw him. There he was, getting out of his dark blue Golf GTI; the same car that was going to take me to home the last time I saw its owner, wearing a dark brown blazer and a maroon tie with a cream pattern. He took his coat and briefcase and closed the door, then turned to where I was watching him absentminded. Suddenly I felt Claire's hand on my arm.
"Got a bit of a crush on him, haven't you?" she told me cheekily.
"No. Not really" I answered her vaguely, and still looked at where the teacher was a few seconds ago. I shook my head and quickly followed with Claire the rest of the pupils to the building.
After a long History class, talking about the Interregnum and the Restoration era, we were going to the gym for P.E when I found Mr Smith talking enthusiastically with the Music teacher; he heard me following my classmates. He then turned his head, swept his eyes between me and the Music teacher, pointed at her with a grin and shouted something about discussing the truth of Ligeti's Artikulation.
He waved at her and then turned to me looking less happy than he was, looking more apologetic.
"Donna, I'm afraid I've been off with the flu these last few days and I not only owe all of you an apology for missing class, but I also owe you an apology for my behaviour the other day. It wasn't my intention to…I mean, that I didn't say that in a bad…" He scratched the back of his neck shyly. "What I'm trying to say is that I shouldn't have offered, what with me being a teacher and you a pupil; and I promise you there were no bad intentions. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry if you misunderstood anything, Donna, and it- it was my fault" He finished now, staring at me sincerely.
What could I do if but believe him? His deep brown eyes told me he was telling me the truth; but only his eyes. While I was still staring at him, my head was trying to remember every single word he said. His voice, his low, sincere and apologetic tone was still flooding my mind, telling me that I could believe him. Even if I didn't want to, it was impossible not to forgive him while his kind and curious face was so close to mine.
Suddenly I realised that I hadn't said anything and he might be waiting for an answer. I stared at the floor and smiled slightly, trying to hide that I was absolutely happy that, after worrying so much, it had been only a mistake, a misunderstanding as he had just said. Then I looked at him and smiled fondly.
"Of course. Don't worry. It was nothing. Nothing you should worry about," I said, more to myself than to him. "I hope you're feeling better now."
"Oh yeah! Get ready; tomorrow we will start with Blake. Such a poetic man, William Blake, even his illustrations were poetic. You'll like him." And with that his eyebrows waggled up to nearly meet his fringe.
And his eyebrows continued to waggle.
